


Afflare

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Carl paints his new purchase.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 166





	Afflare

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When Carl needs a colour out of reach, Markus is the one to fetch it for him, mix it for him, producing the exact pigment he wants and handing it up to him so he doesn’t have to leave his seat. Carl murmurs a distracted, “Thank you, Markus,” and resumes his work. Markus steps back to the side, simply observing the scene. He watches Carl’s brush dance across the canvas, occasionally pausing as Carl’s eyes cast back across the room. 

Connor stands in the center, raised on a stool like a pedestal, naked from head to toe and not remotely embarrassed of it. Androids feel no such for nudity—one of many advantages over human models, according to Carl. That, and Connor’s body is as conventionally handsome as Markus could imagine. He’s all taut muscles, smooth skin, and little pinprick ‘imperfections’ that make him _unique_. When Carl first purchased his new android, Markus couldn’t help feeling a prickle in his chest— _jealousy, fear_ —as illogical as any shame. 

He thought, for a brief moment, that he was being _replaced_ : that Carl had found a newer, prettier model to serve him—to administer his medicine, bring him meals, carry him about and _care for him._ But Connor isn’t that. Connor’s a prototype, like Markus, but so very _different_. No threat to Markus’ position.

Something for Markus to appreciate. He used to love watching Carl paint. Maybe androids can’t _love_ , but that’s the best way Markus could describe the awe at seeing Carl turn a plain canvas into a masterpiece. Now Markus doesn’t have to wait for the results: he can see a living muse that inspires such art. Now he loves staring at Connor while Connor holds a perfect pose. 

Only Connor’s eyes move. Markus can see them searching the studio, analyzing everything in sight, reconstructing events of days past—some recent, some before his purchase. That’s what Connor does: investigate. Studies. Offers insights, stories, inspiration. Markus didn’t understand the correlation until Connor went on a ten-minute tirade about the complex relation of two senators at Carl’s latest black-tie event, and Carl turned it into a four-foot painting. Connor’s gaze visibly lingers on the can of closed red paint Leo knocked over last Thursday.

Then Connor’s eyes drift to Markus, and Markus debates whether he should pretend he was looking elsewhere.

He doesn’t. For no reason, he offers a _smile_ : a warm olive branch for the android he’s begun to share his life with. Connor simulates a blink. 

He smiles back.

They haven’t interfaced yet. They don’t speak through their minds. Maybe they will soon. A part of Markus is sure Carl bought Connor as much for Markus as himself: something to keep Markus company. 

Now Markus has _two_ people he cares about: two good friends. But he thinks Connor could be _more_. Connor’s beautiful.

Carl pipes in, “Oh, hold that smile, Connor—that’s perfect!”

Markus agrees; it is, and Connor holds it for him.


End file.
